


Boundless Expectations

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Rope Bondage, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29790663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Zevran Arainai receives a mysterious message for assistance from someone in his past he hadn't expected to hear from again - Leliana. She needs to find a member of the Inquisition, but it requires expertise and a way to get close that Zevran doesn't quite possess. Luckily, Leliana knows of someone who can help and provides the former Crow with necessary clues to track them down. The trail starts in Tevinter and leads him down a path that defies all his expectations.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Fenris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).



Leliana paced in the office of the Divine in the Grand Cathedral, going over the missive she held over and over again. It was written in her specialized version of Thieves’ Cant, leading her to believe that what she was seeing was genuine. 

But that didn’t make it any easier to digest.

_2 Solas 9:32 Dragon_

_Your Holiness Divine Victoria,_

_I hope this missive finds you well, Most Holy. I would like to first express my regrets for being unable to attend your coronation; I heard it was a grand affair, as would befit a woman of your tastes and status, of course. I truly am saddened to have missed it._

_But I wasn’t there for good reason, and I think Your Holiness will be most interested in what I have to say, for it concerns one of your former companions, if my information is accurate._

_I know you have had little birds flying to try and find out the fate of one Solas, former member of the Inquisition. I write to tell you that I have news of him, and, Most Holy, I am afraid it is not good._

_In the course of my efforts to find a cure for the taint, I heard tell of a group of elves traveling north of Antiva, to the site of ancient Arlathan. As that seemed...peculiar to me, I asked around, and it turns out they weren’t the only group of elves going. The remains of my own clan, they decided to go as well. When I tried to find out why...well, there’s your missing member. They were all going at the behest of Solas._

_I don’t know why and I’m afraid I can’t take the time to explore on my own. I’m...close to reaching my goal. Or at least getting information that will be beneficial to the Order as a whole. Which you know we need. But I beseech you to send someone to investigate. Preferably someone who can infiltrate undetected. Because my instinct is screaming at me that this is important; and if my life has taught me anything, it’s to never ignore my instincts._

_Forgive this crude means of communication. I would have much rather delivered this news in person, but I fear I’m quite far from Orlais at the moment. I wish I could have written with better news, and hopefully next time I do it will be with good tidings. But for now, I wish you luck._

_Yours,_

_Lyna Mahariel_

_P.S. - Really, Leli, congratulations on the election. A bottle of Antivan brandy on me when next we meet!_

Leliana sighed as she rubbed her gloved hand over her forehead, her brain working quickly to absorb the information Lyna revealed and going through the many permutations and implications such action would have. She needed to tell the Inquisitor, that much was certain. And Cullen and Cassandra. What a mess. 

Solas, leading the elves into Arlathan Forest. It was...strange, even for him. And of course the ever-present question that was gnawing at the back of her mind. 

_Why_.

Why indeed. She needed to figure it out if she were to lead Andrastians in the right direction and still offer sage advice to the Inquisitor. Maker preserve her if she was destined to preside over another Exalted March. She couldn’t do it, she _wouldn’t_. That would not be her legacy. 

She sighed again as she considered everyone she could possibly send to do what Lyna asked. It had to be someone she trusted. Someone _Lyna_ trusted, to be quite honest. 

Of course. Why didn’t she think of him sooner? There were two elves she knew who could successfully infiltrate Arlathan Forest, who knew the terrain and had the skills she needed. And, more importantly, her absolute faith. 

Shaking her head slightly as one of the faces came into her mind, she sat and began to draft a letter, not as Divine Victoria, but as Leliana, the Nightingale. As the bard and skilled assassin she once was. For it was assassins she was after. 

* * *

Zevran Arainai was enjoying self-employment. He liked having no one to give him orders, or commands, or tell him where to go or what to do. He could choose the contracts he wanted and got to keep the profits. He even sorted things with the Crows. Well, mostly. There were still some who kept to the old contract, but more and more of the guild recognized his connections and skills and knew he was nigh untouchable. 

In fact, his reputation preceded him so much that he was able to return to Antiva for the first time in 10 years, and it was _glorious_. Never mind that he was under the protection of the Montilyets as well and currently enjoying their hospitality. So maybe he wasn’t _truly_ free. But he was home. 

He had missed it, to be quite honest. The smells, the familiar voices, the hustle and bustle of the factories and the ports...although the Free Marches - with their ports and their compact districts - gave him more of a sense of home than dank, dusty Ferelden ever had. But still. It paled in comparison to the real thing. 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and propping his boot-clad feet up on the desk in front of him, minding the inkwell but not giving much care to the parchment that littered it. He interlaced his fingers behind his head and breathed deeply, taking in the acrid salt-and-fish smell of the bustling pier below him. 

He was content. 

That contentment was short-lived, however, as a knock sounded on his door. 

“Come,” he called. One of the many Montilyet servants poked his head in. They knew Zevran never allowed the servants into his room. They weren’t allowed to clean for him. It was a sense of pride instilled in him from his childhood in the Crows - if you don’t clean up after yourself, you don’t care about yourself. If you don’t care about yourself, then you don’t care about the work. So he always kept his room immaculate.

Not to mention the instruments the servants would find in his room would probably scar them for life. And the last thing Zevran wanted to do was be responsible for some poor soul’s trauma. 

He only caused trauma for deserving ones. 

Smiling at that thought, he removed his boots from the desk and leaned his weight forward, the front two legs of his chair landing on the ground with a small thud. He sighed as he stood, stretching languidly. He was curious as to why the servant was here in the middle of the day. Maybe one of the Montilyets had a job for him. 

“What is it?” he asked, striding to the door. He stepped past the threshold, the servant moving back to keep a respectable distance between them, and Zevran closed the door behind him. 

“A letter for you, ser,” the servant said, holding out an envelope with a wax seal that Zevran immediately recognized. Surprised, he kept his voice steady and his smile placid as he took it. 

“Thank you, Roberto. That’s all for now.” The servant smiled slightly and bowed swiftly, before turning on his heel and departing down the hall. Although they had never said, Zevran suspected the servants liked that they didn’t have to do much for him. It made him happy to provide this small kindness in the world. 

Glancing curiously at the seal again, Zevran returned to his desk, this time sitting in the chair properly as he reached for the letter opener. 

He knew that seal. It was the seal of Divine Victoria. Which was...intriguing to him to say the least. He hadn’t heard from Victoria since she was crowned. He attended the coronation to provide his own form of security, not content with the Seekers and Templars and not trusting them to provide adequate protection since they were corrupted at the hand of Corypheus. He knew the Inquisition had its forces, the Nightingale’s own flock watching over her, whether officially sanctioned or of their own volition. But still, Leliana was one of his oldest friends, not to mention a fellow peer in the business. He’d have been remiss to not give her his best. 

But that profession they shared, it made her association with him...tenuous at best. Not many people knew the extent of what Leliana did prior to her ascension as Victoria. They knew of her work as Justinia’s left hand and as spymaster for the Inquisition, and it took all of the Inquisitor’s considerable influence to convince the College of Clerics to vote for her. Zevran knew the Divine intended to keep her more...unsavory contacts hidden from view. As Divine, however, it would be difficult to still run her spy network, due to the constant scrutiny she was under. To break her silence...it must really be important. 

He ran his fingers over the seal, gazing at it intently, trying to determine if it had been tampered with on the way to him. But no, it was as solid as the moment she stuck her ring into the hot wax. No one would dare interfere with the personal correspondence of the Divine, it would seem. 

He slid the blade under the seal, breaking it, and pulled out the thick parchment that indicated it was from the Office of the Divine. He fingered the paper, checking for any hidden sign or evidence of tampering, but found none. Perhaps this was just a courteous letter? 

But then he opened it and realized with a start that the Divine had resorted to using their specialized version of Thieves’ Cant to write the letter. So it must have been important after all. 

_7 Solas 9:32 Dragon_

_Zevran,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying all the comforts Josie’s family has offered you. I know the arrangement wasn’t exactly to your liking, but it did allow you to go home in a way that was most preferable, I’d assume, so overall I daresay you are content._

_Unfortunately, I’m writing with a request for you to leave glorious Antiva. I have received information from an extremely trusted source that says something important is going on in Arlathan Forest. It involves an exodus of elves and a former companion of the Inquisitor, Solas. He seems to be gathering the elves in that holy place. I’ve had multiple confirmations of this. What I don’t have confirmation of, however, is why._

_And that’s where you come in. I need you to infiltrate the elves in Arlathan Forest, get close to Solas, and figure out what his plans are. You and I have another elvhen friend who is indisposed at the moment who passed me this information and says their instincts state this is important, and I am inclined to agree. Something is happening, and I need to know what._

_I also know Solas well enough to know your skills alone will not interest him. No, you need a bargaining chip. And to do that, you need to bring something...unique. There’s only one thing I know of that can entice him in a way that would get you an audience with him almost immediately._

_Well, not a “what.” More a “who.” A friend of a friend. He comes highly recommended and will suit our needs perfectly. However, I have no idea where he is or how to find him. Last my birds saw of him he was crossing the border into Tevinter. Another friend of mine has given me a place to start, but the person I need you to recruit is understandably keeping a low profile. Use your contacts, get close to him. You need him and I need you, because I trust you much more than I trust him._

_I cannot stress the importance of this, Zev. You must succeed. If you don’t...well, it might be worse than the first time we met._

_Travel well,_

_Leliana_

A second parchment was tucked behind the first, also written in Thieves’ Cant, along with another smaller, sealed envelope, addressed simply to “Fenris.” His target then. Looking at the second parchment confirmed Fenris was indeed who he was after and included a description of him. 

“Not much to go on…” Zevran muttered, noting his last-known location. Tevinter. Well, he’s never crossed over into the Imperium before. Guess there’s a first time for everything. 

Because that letter wasn’t written by the Divine. No, it was written by his friend, his contact and his peer. It was a professional assignment with the undertones of a friend in need. 

And he would not fail her. 

* * *

_Two weeks later_

Zevran sighed as he entered the tavern, removing his hood as the heat and stench of the closed space washed over him. He might be in a foreign country, but he’d discovered that a tavern was a tavern, no matter what language was spoken or what people frequented it. It was always full of three things - potential sexual partners, alcohol, and information. And he had a need for all three. 

This was the 12th tavern he had been to in as many days. Although the Divine’s contact had given him a starting spot, it was a few weeks old by the time he got there. Not that he blamed the Divine or her contact; he’d done more with less. 

It also didn’t hurt that Fenris seemed to be leaving a trail of bodies wherever he went. At first, he thought the bodies were just a coincidence; death was no stranger to Tevenes. But as he continued his search, he began to notice a pattern - all those who had died near to when Fenris had been in the vicinity were slavers of the worst kind. They had preyed on children, refugees, those who had nowhere to turn except indentured servitude, which was the Tevene term for slavery. They were the worst of Tevenes and Zevran found himself not minding they were dead. 

But that didn’t help his problem at the moment. 

Her Holiness didn’t put a timeline on the assignment, but he knew the longer he waited the more power this Solas would acquire. And if that caused the Divine to be fearful, the _Warden_ to be fearful, then it caused him some trepidation as well. Besides, no good could come from gathering elves from all over Thedas. That concerned him.

Not that he had any connection or affinity to his race; he didn’t grow up with the culture and knew less about the Dalish than some humans probably, but still, it didn’t sit well with him, a whole race disappearing like that…

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a rough voice that sounded from down the bar, the timbre in that sweet spot that let it carry over the overall din of the tavern. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice growled. 

“What?” another voice slurred. Zevran observed the larger silhouette that the second voice belonged to, and it seemed to sway, as if it had partaken in too much ale. “You don’t like my offer? I can go up by half, but any more than that’s gonna need some assurances from you on my expectations.” 

“I think you have the wrong impression about me,” the gravelly voice said, still giving off an aura of calmness even though the voice had a hint of malice in it, Zevran could tell. 

The second man threw his arm around the cloaked figure and Zevran winced on the man’s behalf. He wouldn’t have done that. 

“Come now,” the drunken man was saying, “I know a knife ear when I see one, and I know what knife ears like to do in a place like this. I dunno why you’re hiding underneath a cloak, unless you’re not on duty yet? Would you like me to come back when you’re on the clock?” 

Before Zevran could even acknowledge that the man had called the cloaked figure “knife ear,” said figure shrugged off the other man’s arm and had it pinned behind his back in a hold that would surely break it if he twisted just a bit harder. Not that it was any of Zevran’s business, but it seemed like the “knife ear” could take care of himself. Good. 

He was about to turn back to his goblet in front of him when the hooded figure’s cloak sleeve slipped, just slightly. The figure caught it quickly and shook it back over his wrist, but one as trained as Zevran understood what he saw: markings, pure white, like Leliana told him would be.

Exactly who he was looking for. 

Grabbing his drink, Zevran wandered over to the commotion, the larger man still pressed against the bar with his arm behind his back, the hooded figure whispering in his ear. Even with Zevran’s training, he couldn’t make out what the cloaked man was saying and his face was shrouded, so lip-reading was out of the question. 

But regardless, that was the man Zevran needed. And this situation gave him the perfect in. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen, is there a problem?” he said in his smoothest voice possible, sliding between the two and peering into the cloaked man’s face, brilliant light hazel eyes staring back at him. Zevran shook his head slightly and tilted his eyes toward his own ears, trying to indicate that he was on Fenris’ side. 

“This knife ear here is being _rude_ ,” the man blubbered against the bar, face still plastered on the smooth wooden surface. 

“Oh was he now?” Zevran asked, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to the other man to see if Fenris would let him up. With a disgusted noise, the other elf let the man go. 

When he felt Fenris ease his grip, the larger man stood up and spun quickly, looking as if he was going to grab the other elf. But Zevran’s hand shot out, the speed of his rogue training kicking in, and stopped him. 

“As the man said earlier, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zevran murmured. 

“You’re another knife ear!” the drunken man said. “Since when is this place crawling with ‘em? It’s gone downhill, that’s for sure.” 

Zevran pressed his thumb against the man’s pressure point on his wrist, causing him to begin to hiss and writhe in pain. 

“Stop that!” he said. 

“If you value your life, you’ll kindly exit the establishment. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your tab.” Zevran pressed a few sovereigns into the man’s hand as he let his wrist go. “Go get yourself something nice elsewhere. On me, friend.” 

The man looked at the coins left in his hand, looked up at Zevran, shrugged, then staggered out of the bar. 

Letting out a breath as the drunken man departed, Zevran turned to Fenris. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Fenris told him, that deep voice of his washing over Zevran like a wave. It warmed him in a way that he hadn’t been warmed in...awhile. 

Well. This would be interesting. 

“I know I didn’t need to, my friend, but I’d hate to see your night ruined,” Zevran said, taking the seat at the bar that was vacated by the drunken man. 

“I’m not your friend,” Fenris said, turning away and starting to get up. 

Zevran wanted to reach out and stop him, but thought better of it. Something about his interaction with the man at the bar led Zevran to believe the other elf might not enjoy being touched without his consent. 

So he went for the obvious thing instead. 

“Fenris,” he said, quietly. Although the other elf didn’t turn to look at him, his back did straighten as he paused his movements and tilted his head in Zevran’s direction. “What did you say?” 

“Fenris,” he repeated simply, still maintaining his quiet voice. 

The other elf finally turned to him then, sitting down fully at the bar again, though he kept his hood up. “I don’t know anybody in Antiva,” he said, immediately placing Zevran’s accent. “Nor do I know any Crows.” Fenris peered at Zevran’s face closely, and he was again taken back by the elf’s brilliant eyes. 

“You don’t,” Zevran agreed, continuing speaking quickly as the other man’s face began to darken with suspicion. “But although we have yet to be acquainted, we do have some mutual friends who suggested I seek you out.”

“Oh?” he said, that gravelly voice running through Zevran again and causing his skin to tingle. 

“Yes. I believe you spent some time in Kirkwall with a certain dwarf who liked to spin tales?”

“I did.” 

“And that dwarf happened to join an organization that was focused on saving Thedas from a certain magister?” 

Fenris raised his eyebrow. “I’ve heard mention of it, yes.” 

“And that organization employed a certain bird that was elected Divine?” 

Fenris sighed, clearly getting agitated. “Yes, I know Divine Victoria was involved in the Inquisition. Get to your point.” 

Zevran nodded curtly. “What if I told you that the Divine needed our help?” 

Fenris raised both eyebrows at that. “The Divine requested _my_ help? Why would she do that?” 

Zevran smiled and placed a few sovereigns on the bar, enough to cover his and Fenris’ tab, as well as the tab of the drunken man. “I’d rather not say here,” he said, standing up. “Careto accompany me to someplace more...private to discuss?” 

Fenris stared at him for a few moments, as if considering his threat level. “You have a room here?” 

“Maker no, not here. A place down the street though. Care to accompany me?” 

Fenris considered him again for a long moment before nodding curtly. “Lead the way.” 

* * *

The journey from the tavern to the inn was short and Zevran took cues from Fenris regarding conversation. He seemed to be the quiet sort, which suited Zevan just fine. He could talk enough for the both of them. 

Besides, one had to be content with silence and their own thoughts if traveling alone, something Zevran was intimately familiar with. So he let Fenris enjoy the quiet that he was presumably used to. 

When they arrived at the inn, Fenris raised his eyebrows, seemingly in appreciation. “The Chantry pays handsomely,” he said, looking around at the well-to-do establishment. 

“Oh no, my friend, the coin I’m spending on these accommodations isn’t from the purse the Divine gave me. It’s quite...paltry, compared to my usual fees. But seeing as I’m doing a favor for a friend, I’d just as easily have done it for free. Or, for an even smaller fee than what I am being given. But alas, I have become accustomed to certain...luxuries, and after spending close to a year living on the road, I’d rather spend the coin to have a nice feather bed.” 

Zevran grabbed the key to his room from the proprietor at the desk and led Fenris up the plush, carpeted stairs. Fenris followed, but said nothing more until they arrived in Zevran’s room. 

It _was_ nice if Zevran was being truthful. The Tevinter Imperium was known for its hospitality and it didn’t disappoint, even if he couldn’t book the best inns - those were reserved only for members of the Altus class. As a member of the Soporoti (even a foreigner was considered _soporoti_ if they had no magic), Zevran could only achieve near to the best. 

Fenris looked around at the plush furnishings, the dark wooden paneling, the leaded-glass windows with gossamer curtains, the large feather-mattress bed that boasted a four-poster and hangings for warmth and privacy, and grunted. 

“I didn’t know they afforded Soporoti such things,” he said softly. “Then again, I guess I never really cared to investigate.” He turned to Zevran, who gestured for Fenris to sit in one of the two chairs that flanked the intricately carved, dark wooden fireplace. As it was the height of summer, however, the fireplace was currently dormant, and the windows were thrown open to let in a breeze. 

“The Crows must pay you well then,” Fenris said, removing his cloak and taking a seat. 

“Hardly,” Zevran said. He was about to explain further, but was taken aback by the man’s beauty. Those light hazel eyes were framed by thick black lashes and dark eyebrows, though his hair was shockingly pure white, lighter even than his own pale blond tresses. The shaggy, long cut fell over his eyes as he removed his hood, and Zevran had to suppress the desire to push it out of his way. 

_“That’s not what you’re here for,”_ he reminded himself. Still, with such a beautiful specimen in front of him, it was hard to keep his hands to himself. 

He was lithe, tall for an elf, and his tanned skin perfectly complemented the most shocking part about him - the intricately designed white tattoos that started along his chin and seemed to extend throughout his body. They at least covered the part of his chest, shoulders, and arms that were exposed by the leather vest he wore. 

And although he was lithe, he had exquisitely defined muscles, the result of hefting the great, two-handed sword Zevran now saw strapped to his back, originally obscured by the cloak. 

He was a perfect specimen of a man. 

With a start, he realized he was staring. Thankfully, Fenris seemed to have missed his obvious gawking, busying himself with securing his sword in a place that was out of the way, but still within reach should he need it. 

Well trained, too. 

No wonder Victoria thought he would interest Solas. 

“The Crows don’t give their assassins a cut of the profits; we get a small fee and enough to cover expenses. Of course, those expenses can be rather... _luxurious_ , especially if the client’s intended target is into such things. However, I am no longer in their employ. I work on my own, and can charge quite the fee for my services. Not to mention the King of Ferelden was quite...becoming with his thanks after the Fifth Blight. A few proper investments with the right members of the Merchants’ Guild, and I could retire. Care for some wine?” he asked, gesturing to the small collection he had amassed since being in Tevinter. If Antiva was known for its brandy, the Imperium was known for its wine, and Zevran had every intention of bringing some bottles back with him. But he’d be open to sharing one now, should Fenris agree. 

“Not at the moment, thank you,” that gravelly voice said. Zevran nodded and gave the other man a small smile. A consummate professional. 

“You got out of the Crows?” Fenris asked, brow furrowing slightly. 

“Ah, yes I did,” Zevran answered, removing his own traveling cloak and gloves and sitting down across from the other man. “It’s a rather enticing tale, but perhaps for another time? If all goes according to plan, we will have plenty of time together to discuss such things.”

“To plan?” Fenris said, tensing slightly. It was subtle though. Well trained indeed. 

“Relax, my friend. No harm will come to you here. You have my word on that. And as I was a Crow, you know my word is bond.” 

“You _were_ a Crow; there is no contract holding you to your vows now,” Fenris answered.

“That is true. However, I have a few...significant people who would vouch for me. Oh, but where are my manners? Zevran Arainai,” he said, holding out his hand. After a split second’s hesitation, Fenris took it.

“Fenris,” he said, “though it seems you already know that.” 

“I do,” Zevran said, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “Though I am afraid that is where my knowledge of you stops. I know who you traveled with for almost a decade - up to last year that is - but aside from that, you are as much a mystery to me as I am to you.” 

Fenris stared at him a moment more before clearing his throat. “Indeed. You mentioned the Divine? I can’t imagine the Chantry would want anything to do with me after the events of Kirkwall.” 

“This Divine is...different,” Zevran said. “Also, you may speak freely in this room; I’ve searched it thoroughly.” Fenris nodded and Zevran continued. “Divine Victoria...is an old friend. When I knew her, she went by Leliana, and was a companion of the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. As was I.” 

If Fenris was shocked by that information, he didn’t let on, so Zevran continued. 

“During that almost year of travel, Leliana and I became close. We weren’t involved romantically, but the...similarities of our professions led us to some unique and quite entertaining conversations. For you see, dear Leliana was an Orlesian bard. We spent many hours comparing techniques, passing the time teaching each other various skills from our different training. Regardless, I would pledge my life to Leliana, and I know she trusts me implicitly. When you’ve fought an archdemon together...well, certain things just never leave you.” 

“I know what you mean,” Fenris said, softly. Zevran wondered if he’d intended to speak, but then thought better of that. It seemed as if this man didn’t do anything unintentionally. He wondered what monstrous entity he and the Champion had to fight. 

Choosing to ignore that, Zevran went on. “Almost two weeks ago, I received a letter from Divine Victoria indicating she was given some information from the Hero of Ferelden. Our mutual friend has been traveling throughout Thedas. While on her journey, she apparently discovered a piece of information the Divine needed. One of the Inquisitor’s companions, an elvhen mage named Solas, apparently disappeared shortly after defeating the darkspawn magister. As he was friends with the Inquisitor, the Divine was tasked with finding him before her election, and apparently still has her birds out looking for him, even after she ascended. Well. Solas has reportedly resurfaced.” 

“Where?” Fenris asked as Zevran paused to take a breath. 

“In the Imperium,” Zevran said. “Apparently, he has returned to the ancient land.” 

Fenris’ brows furrowed, a look of confusion clouding his features. “Why? The power there has been depleted, the magisters made sure of it.” 

“That’s what the Divine wants to know. But him reappearing at Arlathan isn’t the only strange occurrence surrounding him. Apparently all the elves are following him there.” 

“What?” Fenris said, more an exclamation than a question. 

Zevran shrugged. “I have no idea, it’s just what was in the Divine’s report, taken from the Hero. These are trusted sources, however, so I do believe this is what has been occurring. Have you noticed any lack of elves in Tevinter?” 

“No, but most elves are slaves here, kept behind closed doors, never to be seen by the public.” The venom that entered Fenris’ voice at that suggested Fenris might have personal experience with such a lifestyle, which may have been an explanation for why he reacted so poorly when that man mistook him for a prostitute. 

Interesting. 

Zevran nodded. “Indeed. A sad tale, but an all-together not unsurprising one. If the elves have truly gone missing, then it is worthwhile to investigate I think.” 

Fenris nodded. “Agreed. But what I don’t understand is - why _me_? I’m sure there are other elves whom the Divine trusts; like I said before, I can’t imagine my actions over the past few years have endeared me much to the Chantry.” 

“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Zevran answered, smiling slightly. He really didn’t. He’d always intended to read _Tale of the Champion_ but always found something better to occupy his time with. 

“In answer to why _you_ specifically...there are a few reasons I can think of. The first being that you’re from Tevinter, and Arlathan Forest happens to be in this country. Your knowledge and expertise would prove invaluable. The second is of a more...well, delicate nature. The Divine wrote she needed us to get close to Solas, which can’t be done by just anyone. To do so requires something special, something...unique.” 

“She wants me for my markings,” Fenris interrupted. 

“That isn’t quite how Her Holiness put it, but seeing you now...yes. I would wager she believes your markings would interest Solas enough to get a personal audience with him.” 

“I see…” Fenris said, falling silent. 

Zevran pulled the letter for Fenris out of his sack. “She included this with her missive to me. I haven’t opened it, so I have no idea what it contains. But maybe the Divine will better explain the situation herself.” He handed the parchment over to Fenris, who took it immediately and turned it over in his hands a bit before opening it. 

Zevran sat quietly as Fenris perused the letter. After a few minutes, he folded the parchment, placed it in an inner pocket of his vest, and met Zevran’s eyes. 

“I’ll do it,” he said, much to Zevran’s surprise. “On one condition though.” Ah, that was more like it. 

“What would that be?” he asked. 

“I am not here merely because it is my homeland. You claim to not know my story, and I will give you the benefit of believing you. But know this - I am Tevene, but Tevinter is not my home. It hasn’t been my home for awhile. I am here for one reason only - to slay those who mistreat slaves and take advantage of them.” 

“Ah,” Zevran said, chuckling. “I daresay I did notice your...shall I say, trail? It led me to you, though I did know what I was looking for, so maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious to one not looking. Regardless, the Imperium is full of slavers; slavery is the backbone of Tevene society. So unless you plan to petition the Magisterium to outlaw the practice...what can we do?” 

“ _I_ can make a name for myself as someone who watches out for the refugees and the downtrodden and who makes sure those who do enter into contracts only have decent employers to choose from. Not all Tevenes mistreat their slaves; some actually give them an ounce of kindness. But there are some, some who don’t deserve to live.” 

He paused, taking a breath, then continued. “I will accompany you to this...Solas. But I must ask a favor first. You are a Crow - were a Crow - and presumably have the skills of a Crow. I think I saw a glimpse of it at the tavern.” Zevran nodded. “I have been focused on eliminating one particularly egregious group of slavers. They aren’t just owners; they’re importers, sellers. They _profit_ off the practice. Even worse, they take _children_. And they aren’t the most discerning of sellers. That ‘trail’ you say you followed? All members of the same trade guild. I intend to eliminate them. I have almost accomplished this. I just have their leader and his lieutenants left.” 

Fenris looked Zevran fully in the face. “Help me eliminate them, and I will gladly join you on your trip to Arlathan.” 

“Done,” Zevran said, smiling. 

Fenris sat back, eyebrow raised. “That’s it? You don’t want to hear the details, know what you’re getting yourself into?” 

“My friend, you seem fairly skilled yourself, and as you say, I was a Crow. I still have all the training. And I haven’t let myself get out of practice either. I am...rather well-skilled, if I do say so myself, and thus will be happy to lend you my aid. I have no fear we will fail. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve killed someone who truly deserved it. I would be delighted to assist you.” 

For the first time since he met him, Fenris smiled. “Then let’s get started.”

* * *

Zevran had to admit he was impressed. Fenris seemed to have done his homework, knowing the guards’ rotation, where they were positioned, the location of multiple escape routes, and the time the most of them were gathered together. It seemed like he had a well-thought plan, which, given that this wasn’t his first time taking on such an endeavor, wasn’t really all that surprising. 

The plan had to be modified a bit with the existence of Zevran, a two-pronged approach as opposed to one single entity infiltrating the location. They both quickly agreed that neither would be relegated to guard duty; their skill sets would be complementary, working in tandem to take down the slavers. Keeping one outside would just do them a disservice. 

As Fenris wasn’t known for his stealth, it was decided that Zevran would go in first, take out anybody in the way silently, and open the path for Fenris to reach the main chamber, which was where the slaughter would begin. Fenris also had that - a schedule of the guild’s meetings. They were intending to meet the following night, which was when Fenris was going to strike. That part hadn’t changed. 

“So just to be clear, you don’t worry about hiding the bodies or burning them once they are killed?” Zevran asked. 

“I see no need,” Fenris replied with a shrug. “Others know who they are; I want it to be known why they died.” 

“Fair enough, my friend,” Zevran said with a chuckle. “Then it is settled. Anything else we need to do before we turn in for the evening?” 

Fenris considered for a moment but then shook his head. He met Zevran’s eyes. “Just know that I will not be allowing you to get in my way. No matter what happens, these slavers aren’t getting out of there alive.” 

Zevran smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Oh don’t worry. I have failed in only one contract my entire life, and that was to defeat the Warden. And between you and me, I might have pulled my punches just a bit. You know, fate of the world and all that.” 

Fenris grunted. “Indeed.” 

* * *

Zevran passed the next day by himself, relaxing and enjoying all the comforts Tevinter had to offer. He and Fenris had agreed to meet only an hour before they were to strike, so he had time to waste. He spent the day exploring the city, the sights and sounds washing over him as he absorbed the environment. Tevinter was...an interesting place. More ancient than any of the southern countries in Thedas, the history that surrounded him was fascinating. He wished he had decided to come there while not on a mission; that way he could explore more without being concerned about that evening’s activities. 

Not that he was _worried_. Fenris seemed more than capable of taking care of himself. If his trail of bodies was any indication, he didn’t even really need Zevran’s help. But it was always good to work with someone, to have someone watch your back. And if the slaver they were after was as important as Fenris made him out to be...then it was probably good for them to be going after him together. 

Zevran allowed his thoughts to drift as he walked, though Fenris’ face kept coming into his mind. It wasn’t right, he kept reminding himself. It wasn’t nearly right that Zevran should be thinking about his mark that way. 

It’s just...it had been so long since he had found somebody _that_ attractive. He’d had dalliances for sure, and his work often called for him to get... _close_ with people. But to have someone that he liked _on his own_ was a strange concept. In fact, now that he thought about it, it hadn’t been since Lyna that he truly wanted someone for _him_. 

And they all knew how well that turned out. 

He didn’t begrudge Alistair her love, but still. He’d always maintain that the Warden deserved so much more than to be his concubine. 

Zevran shook his head with a sigh. It wasn’t his place, nor was it his problem anymore. He swore he’d support the Warden and her companions for as long as he lived, and that was exactly what he was doing. 

He smiled as he sat down at one of the many cafés that littered the city. He had no idea that Tevinter could be so... _cultured_. Of course, it had nothing on Orlais, and his beloved Antiva would always be his preference, but if he had to spend time here for the foreseeable future, he found he probably wouldn’t mind it. 

His thoughts then wandered to Solas and Arlathan. He had no idea what to expect going into that place. What Fenris had said was true; Arlathan had been depleted ages ago, stripped clean by the magisters who stole the elves’ power and made them - _us_ , he amended his thoughts - quicken. 

Zevran shuddered. He wouldn’t want to be immortal. To live in this world forever, to deal with the people here forever...he knew he’d tire of it quickly. 

He enjoyed his meal and then headed back to his room to prepare himself for the evening, the day having passed faster than he expected. 

Soon, Fenris was showing up at his door, dressed in the same cloak from the previous night, which perfectly concealed his weapon. 

“Are you ready?” he asked by way of greeting. 

“Good evening to you, too,” Zevran said with a smile. 

“The evening will be good once Valgus and his cronies are eliminated,” he said in response. 

“Fair enough, my friend. And I am indeed ready.” Zevran pulled his own cloak hood over his blond tresses, hiding them from view. He loved his hair, but the color could prove difficult when trying to achieve stealth. 

“Then let us go. The longer Valgus is allowed to live, the worse off the world is.” 

“Indeed,” Zevran agreed. “Then lead the way.” Although he knew exactly where the guild meeting was to take place, having scoped it out - and a myriad of escape routes - during his walk that afternoon, he had a sneaking suspicion Fenris would feel better in front. 

They kept quiet on their way there, Zevran slowly slipping into his assassin’s mindset. It wasn’t all that different from how he usually acted, but it allowed him to focus just that much more. It was a meditative state that cleared his mind of any distractions, giving him that honed edge he always needed. 

They approached the house where the meeting was to take place. Zevran found himself impressed once again at the architecture, simultaneously ancient yet modern, white fluted columns flanking a door of solid iron, granite steps leading up to the front. Filigree gold and silver iron fencing surrounding the property and a slate sloped roof covered an elegant two-story building. It was a design that could only have been achieved with magic. 

_“Or slavery,”_ he thought. 

Shaking _that_ notion out of his head, he and Fenris made their way around to the side of the building, looking for the door that should have been left open for the deliveries that were currently being made. 

As Zevran was about to slip inside to ensure the coast was clear, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning quickly, he was surprised to find it was Fenris who touched him. Zevran just raised his eyebrow in question. 

“Valgus is mine. I don’t care who else you kill, but that one...save that one for me.” 

Zevran smiled and he let a wicked gleam enter his eye. “Of course, my friend. I wouldn’t dream of taking that from you. He’s all yours.” 

He slipped in the door, mildly surprised to not find a single person waiting for him. 

_“Interesting,”_ he thought, letting out a low whistle to let Fenris know it was clear for him to come in. When the other elf met him in the hallway, he raised his eyebrow in question. Zevran just shook his head, and the other man narrowed his eyes. Seemed the lack of resistance was a surprise to him, too. 

That put Zevran’s senses on high alert, and he tightened his grip on his daggers, pulling them swiftly and silently from their sheaths at his back. He and Fenris continued their silent prowl forward, encountering no resistance along the way. 

It was almost as if someone told the guild members they were coming. 

The hallway made a severe turn to the left, and Zevran held up his hand, signaling Fenris to stop. Keeping a few steps ahead of him, the assassin peered around the corner, but saw nothing but an empty hall. 

He decided then that he needed to risk it. 

“This isn’t right,” he murmured, turning slightly to face the other elf. “Have your other encounters been like this?” 

“No,” Fenris’ low voice came to him as if on a wind. “There have always been guards.” 

“Maybe you killed them all and they didn’t have the chance to replace them yet?” 

To Zevran’s incredible surprise, Fenris chuckled. “Hardly. Money is of no concern to Valgus. I doubt he’d refuse to protect himself, unless he really is that overconfident. But everything I know about him has led me to believe that he’s the paranoid sort.” 

Zevran nodded. “Then let us be even more vigilant, friend.” 

He was about to step around the corner when he saw it, a razor-thin, almost invisible wire stretching across the hallway. 

They definitely knew they were coming. 

“Trap,” he murmured. Fenris’ eyes widened slightly, but he stayed back.

“Can you disarm it?” he asked. 

“I can,” Zevran acknowledged, searching the wire for... _there_. He moved forward slowly, keeping his eye on the wire the whole time. His gaze focused on the mechanism, where it connected to the wall and its trigger. He knelt near it and sheathed his daggers once more, pulling off his gloves to work the delicate parts more easily. 

A glance over his shoulder showed him that Fenris had stayed back behind the corner. Good. He really was well trained. 

Zevran took a moment to study the contraption, deducing it was a fire trap. Glad he saw it then. He didn’t have his fire-resistant armour on and he really didn’t feel like getting burned. 

He removed his lockpicking set from his belt pouch and chose one of the thinner instruments. Using it to hold the pin of the trigger in place, he then pulled the wire out. A small rush of air greeted him, telling him the trap had been successfully disarmed. 

“Done,” he said, putting his tools back in his pouch and pulling his gloves on again. A hand reached out to him as he was about to stand. Looking up, Zevran was surprised to find Fenris had offered him a hand up. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Zevran said, taking the hand. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Fenris murmured. “How did they know we were coming? I was so careful…” 

“Were you?” Zevran countered, chuckling softly. “I told you you left a trail of bodies in your wake.” 

Fenris let out a quiet laugh himself, the sound low and quiet and rushing through Zevran like a bolt of lighting. “Touché,” he said, pulling the sword out from behind his back. “Guess stealth never was my strong suit.” 

“That, my friend, is what we like to call an understatement,” Zevran answered, pulling out his own daggers. He nodded his head forward. “Lead on.” 

* * *

They encountered a few more traps - which Zevran was able to successfully disarm - but no physical resistance on their way to the meeting room. It was in the basement - as all sketchy meeting rooms were, Zevran knew - and they reached the entrance to the staircase that led downstairs without incident. The door was unlocked, and Zevran turned the handle slowly as he stepped to the side, letting Fenris be the first in, should there be a guard waiting for them at the top of the stairs. But just like the rest of the journey so far, nothing greeted them when he opened the door. 

“Remember,” Fenris said. 

“I know, I know, Valgus is yours.” 

Fenris nodded but also looked at Zevran with a side glance. “Yes. But also, remember the majority of these we’re dealing with have magic. Be quick, be sure. No hesitation.” 

“Oh, I never hesitate,” Zevran said, sliding past Fenris to be the first down the stairs in case there were any more traps. He let himself wait, just a moment, absorbing the heat of the other man before stepping forward. He thought he heard a small inhale from behind him, but he could have been mistaken. 

Part of him hoped he wasn’t. 

The basement didn’t disappoint, the stairs leading to a giant meeting room populated with long wooden tables and benches, each home to slavers in full leather armour and staffs either propped at their sides or lying on the table in front of them. Confirmation they were waiting for them then. 

Good. 

“And so it begins,” Fenris said, before jumping into action. 

The battle itself was exhilarating. Zevran hadn’t been that tested in awhile, and it thrilled him. He had to use all of his considerable skills to dodge the mages’ attacks, all the while attempting to get in some hits of his own. It was rough going for a while, the two elves more on the defensive than the offensive. Mage attacks weren’t simple to avoid, and he found himself evading multiple instances of fireballs, lightning blasts, rock attacks, and one terrible instance of crushing prison. 

Mages didn’t play fair, but then again, neither did he. 

Tossing a black powder from his belt pouch, he disappeared into a cloud of smoke, able to flank one of the more problematic mages. Once he was down, he realized he had completely lost track of Fenris. Worriedly, he looked around for the telltale white hair of the other elf, and stopped in his tracks. He absentmindedly dodged a shock attack as he beheld the...fantastic creature in front of him. 

Fenris was a joy to watch. His white markings had turned to blue, the color of the lyrium that flowed through them. He exuded a sort of...aura, a blue haze surrounding him as he swung his greatsword and cut through the mages around him in a swath. Zevran weaved as another blast zoomed past him, never taking his eyes off the figure in front of him. If he was gorgeous before, now...now he was _glorious_. 

They continued fighting, Zevran flitting in between the mages’ blasts, Fenris plowing a path through them. He found himself staring a few times as Fenris’ markings flared, his power washing over him like a warm blast of sunlight. 

Solas would _definitely_ be interested. Zevran didn’t even know the man and he could be certain of that. 

Soon, the two of them managed to take down all the mages, save for Valgus, who had somehow survived their assault up to that point. Even if Fenris hadn’t given him a description of who he was, Zevran would have known the magister immediately. He was dressed more ostentatiously than any of the other mages - as a Tevene magister _should_ dress, Zevran thought - his robes covered with a few pieces of armour that seemed to be more decorative than practical. He also wore a hat that was so large it gave the Divine’s a run for its money. Subtly didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary. 

“Valgus,” Fenris growled, stalking toward the man, his greatsword held in front of him at the ready. 

“D-do I know you?” the magister asked, stammering as he took a few steps backward, trying to keep space between himself and the giant sword approaching him. Zevran stayed behind Fenris, allowing the other elf the space he needed to perform the execution. But he also stayed vigilant, making sure nobody could sneak up on them. 

“You do know me,” Fenris said, still stalking toward Valgus, who had reached the back wall of the space and had nowhere else to go. 

Valgus looked up into Fenris’ face and seemed to actually notice _who_ specifically his attacker was for the first time all engagement. 

“Leto?” he asked, his voice a gasp as shock entered it. “Leto, that is you, isn’t it?” 

“In the flesh,” he growled.

 _“Leto?”_ Zevran thought, eyebrows furrowing at the other name. He realized there was so much about that other elf he didn’t know.

“Oh Leto, I...I beg for your forgiveness. Please. I didn’t know…” 

To Zevran’s surprise, Fenris - or was it Leto? - secured his sword across his back, his markings calming down and returning to their white, dormant state. Zevran eyed the other elf warily, wondering what he was intending. 

“You beg for my forgiveness?” Fenris asked softly. 

“Yes, please. I can pay, I can give you restitution…” Valgus began, but Fenris cut him off. 

“Restitution?” 

Valgus nodded enthusiastically. “I can pay you handsomely. I have more sovereigns than I know what to do with. Give me a number, any number, and the sum is yours. Just let me live.” 

And to Zevran’s immense shock, Fenris reached out to Valgus, almost as if he wanted to shake the magister’s hand, wanted to accept the offer the magister gave him. 

_“What?”_ Zevran thought, wondering what the hell was going through Fenris’ mind. That did not seem like the action of someone who told him to keep the magister alive so he could execute him himself. 

Unless...unless he didn’t want Zevran to kill Valgus because he knew he would offer some form of payment. 

But no, that didn’t seem right. That didn’t seem at all like what - 

Zevran’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flash of blue. Snapping his attention to the two men in front of him, Zevran was shocked when he saw Fenris’ hand go _through_ Valgus’ chest, his forearm flexing as if his hand was closing into a fist, before pulling out in another flash of blue. Valgus’ eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body slumped forward onto Fenris, who dropped him uncaringly to the ground. 

“Good riddance,” he said. 

Zevran just raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as Fenris turned to look at him. His eyes flashed, as if he was challenging Zevran to comment on what happened, but he didn’t. He just smiled. 

“So, shall we ransack the place and then get out of here?” 

“Go ahead,” Fenris said, a timbre to his voice Zevran couldn’t place. “You can keep whatever you find. Consider it payment for your assistance. I...would like to stay here for a moment.” 

“Of course,” he said, unsure of how else to respond to that. “But you know I do not need payment for this. My ‘payment’ for lack of a better word will be you accompanying me to Arlathan.” 

Fenris met his eyes then, and there was a look in them that Zevran also couldn’t place. He had hardly ever met someone as difficult to read as this white-haired elf. 

It intrigued him. 

“I would have been unable to complete my task if it weren’t for you,” Fenris told him quietly. “I am not too proud to admit those traps would have stymied me. But please, let me be. I need...I need some time.” 

“Then time you shall have, my friend,” Zevran said, already moving away. “Shout if you need me.” 

“Thank you,” Fenris said, and it again struck Zevran that those words probably didn’t come out of the other elf’s mouth very often.


	2. Chapter 2

A half hour later, the house had been picked clean and Zevran and Fenris departed it, not bothering to dispose of the bodies. It rankled Zevran a bit, as it went against everything he had ever been taught, but he wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it, if that’s what Fenris wanted. He had seemed a bit...off to Zevran ever since Valgus’ death, and it concerned him a bit. 

He wondered if it had anything to do with Valgus calling Fenris “Leto.” Then again, it wasn’t any of his business. 

Fenris led Zevran back to his inn without discussion, which made sense, considering Zevran wasn’t supposed to know how to get back without him. When they reached the entrance, however, Fenris turned to him, as if he was going to say something, but just stood there quietly. 

“Well,” Zevran said, breaking the awkward silence. “Shall we meet for lunch tomorrow to begin planning our trip to Arlathan?” 

Fenris looked up at him and met his eyes, his gaze piercing Zevran’s own. 

“You offered to share a bottle of wine with me last night; does that offer still stand?” 

“Ah of course, a celebration! Why not?” Zevran said, turning to head into the inn. “I will of course share a bottle with you. If you’re nice, I might even share two.” Zevran winked and Fenris just blinked at him. He winced internally, wondering why he continued to flirt with a man who was clearly uninterested in him. Maybe he liked the challenge. 

Just like last night, Zevran grabbed his room key from the proprietor and led the way to his room. When Fenris entered, he was more confident than before, immediately removing his cloak and stripping off his armour, setting his sword haphazardly to the side as he did so. 

Zevran tsked. “That just won’t do.” He called for a servant to bring up another mannequin to store Fenris’ armour for the time being. It needed to be cleaned and buffed immediately, lest the blood pit the metal. 

“Should I call for an ewer of hot water?” Zevran asked, as Fenris ran a cloth over his face, removing some of the blood splatter that still remained. They cleaned the majority of the gore off of themselves in the house; it wouldn’t do to walk through the streets of Tevinter - even cloaked - with blood covering them. Then again, with blood magic being so prevalent, it might not have been such a strange sight, Zevran thought. 

“I...wouldn’t be opposed,” Fenris answered, nodding his head slightly in thanks. Zevran returned the gesture as he instructed another servant to bring them the ewer. 

After taking care of the orders, Zevran opened up the bottle of wine and poured it into the decanter to breathe. That was one thing he had discovered about Tevinter wine; the longer it sat open, the better it tasted. So he let it absorb the air as they dealt with their equipment. 

He then pulled off his own weapons and stripped off his armour, sitting on the floor to begin working the cleaning cloth over the leather. After a moment’s hesitation - and to Zevran’s surprise - Fenris joined him on the floor. 

“I left the chairs and desk for you, my friend,” he said with a smile. 

“It’s easier on the floor,” was all Fenris said, to which Zevran hummed his agreement. The two men then worked in silence, cleaning, drying and buffing their armour and weapons, a methodical process that seemed to be as much rote memorization for Fenris as it was for Zevran. The two worked as if they had been traveling together for years, much like how they fought together, Zevran realized with a start. As Fenris didn’t have his own supplies, he shared Zevran’s, and the two discovered a rhythm that was soothing as they came down from the high of combat. 

Finally, their equipment was tended to and their hands and faces had been scrubbed clean. Feeling good, Zevran poured the wine into two glasses. He pressed one into Fenris’ hand as he took a seat by the fire. Fenris hesitated for a split second once again, before taking the seat opposite him. Zevran wondered at the pause, but then realized he might be more perceptive than most - waiting before doing something might be a part of who Fenris was, and had nothing to do with their specific situation. Still, it intrigued him. 

He held out his glass in front of him, offering a toast to the other man. “To a successful mission. May we be equally as successful in the second part of our endeavor.” 

“Indeed,” Fenris said simply, gently tapping his glass against Zevran’s. 

He took a small sip of the wine, letting it swirl around his tongue, tasting it before swallowing. Like any good wine, it almost evaporated while in his mouth. It was crisp and fruity, a truly delicious vintage. 

Zevran watched as Fenris drank deeply of his own cup, almost draining it completely in one go. Raising his eyebrow but saying nothing, Zevran just refilled the glass. Fenris grunted - a sound Zevran took to mean thanks - and drank again, though not as much that time. 

“Is everything alright, my friend?” Zevran asked after a few minutes of silence passed. 

Fenris sat for a moment, as if considering whether or not to answer. He sighed deeply, draining his glass before refilling it on his own. 

“I…” he began, before trailing off. 

“Are you feeling slightly morose?” Zevran offered. “That post-mission letdown is a real condition. And you’ll have it two-fold this time - not only is the mission complete, your whole quest is done. It can make one quite...melancholy.” 

“That’s just it, though,” Fenris said, with a bit of passion that took Zevran by surprise. “I should feel... _something_. I don’t care if it’s sadness, or anger, or happiness, or even contentment. But I feel... _nothing_.” He sighed and dropped his head in his hands. “I am broken.” 

“Nonsense, my friend,” Zevran said, immediately. He moved to refill Fenris’ glass once more and opened a second bottle without thought. “You are far from it. In fact, you are a very effective warrior.” 

“I am a _machine_ ,” Fenris shot back, still holding his head. “I am what they made me - an unfeeling, unthinking _object_ that is terrible at everything but killing.” 

“Hey now,” Zevran said softly, turning to more fully look at the other elf. “You’re a fairly decent companion so far.” 

“Am I?” Fenris asked, finally looking up and meeting Zevran’s gaze. “I’ve barely spoken to you this past day, except to order you around and demand you follow me. And now I’m here, drinking your wine and complaining instead of feeling happy for a job well done. I am indeed a shell of a man.” 

“I happen to like the silent, broody type,” Zevran said with a smile. Fenris’ brows contracted at that, just slightly, as if trying to see if he was teasing or not. But Zevran just stared at the other man, allowing him to come to his own conclusion. 

“As for being broken for being unfeeling, or dissatisfied,” he continued, “would you be offended if I tried to make some deductions?” 

Fenris just waved his hand in Zevran’s direction and grabbed his glass, taking another deep drink. Zevran took that gesture as permission. 

“Please, feel free to correct me if I am wrong, but I am guessing this quest was of a bit more...personal nature than some of your other ones.” Fenris stared at him but didn’t say anything, so Zevran continued speaking. “If I were to try and deduce what is happening, you thought you would feel a sense of satisfaction, or relief, or at least vague happiness upon its completion. But that is not the case, is it? Instead, you are feeling, as you described it, empty.” 

“And what would make you say that?” Fenris asked, though he didn’t deny what Zevran said. 

“Valgus called you Leto. That is not your name as I nor my contacts know you, yet you did not seem shocked to hear it. Therefore I deduce Valgus was someone from your past.” 

Fenris leveled his gaze at Zevran and stared at him for a long while. Zevran sat perfectly still, not moving, not taking his eyes from Fenris’. He knew the other man was weighing him, considering how much of his past to reveal. As someone who _also_ kept many secrets about previous parts of his life, Zevran did not mind the scrutiny. In fact, it made him appreciate Fenris more, that he was so discerning about his experiences. It made Zevran respect have even greater respect for the man. 

“I…” he began, before clearing his throat and starting again. “Your deductions aren’t wrong. Leto was my name...before. It was who I was before Valgus sold me into slavery. Fenris was the name my master gave me, but it was the only name I knew, so it stuck.” 

Zevran let his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, but kept his face relatively calm. If he was being truthful, the fact that Fenris was a slave was not surprising at all. It was the only way most elves survived in the Imperium. 

It was the way most elves survived anywhere in Thedas, really. 

For a brief moment, he let his mind slip to Solas and all the elves he was gathering, and he wondered if the man was possibly cooking up a revenge plan for elvhen kind. 

And part of him wondered - should such a thing prove true - if he would want to stop it. 

He shook his head slightly and took a small sip of the wine, reminding himself to focus on the present. Worrying about Solas and his plans for the elves of Thedas was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, Fenris was his only concern. 

“And so you killed the one who brought you pain, but it did not give you relief,” Zevran said, taking another sip. 

“Yes.” Fenris sighed. “He was the last loose end...the last part of Leto’s life. I killed the magister who did this to me,” he gestured to his tattoos, “years ago. Killed his apprentice. Killed all those my master sent after me. All I had left was to do was dismantle Valgus’ operation, and I would be free. I _am_ free. So why do I feel nothing?” Fenris closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. 

“As you are probably aware, most people don’t become Crows by choice. Almost no elf does anyway. I was bought as well, into a different kind of slavery. They did not mar my body like they did yours, but they also honed me into a weapon, an assassin skilled in poisons, seduction, and the art of killing. I had no choice but to do what they said. And they made me do...many things I am not proud of. But it was the life I had, the hand I was dealt. It could have been worse.

“But the Crows...they went too far. They asked too much of me, and so I decided to end my service with them the only way I knew how. I didn’t truly pull my punches with the Warden because I was concerned about ending the Blight. I had no care about that. All I wanted was for her to kill me. But she didn’t. She spared me and showed me a better way, a more caring way. But that didn’t mean I forgot what Arainai did to me.” 

“Arainai?” Fenris asked. 

“You aren’t the only one who received his name from his slave master. It’s how the Crows work - you take the name of the house that buys you. I served House Arainai, so Arainai became my name.” He shrugged. “Like you, it was the only name I knew, so I kept it. And like you, after I returned to traveling on my own, I took it upon myself to end those who had caused me such pain and hardship. The House of Arainai was to be no more.” 

“Were you successful?” Fenris asked, intently watching him. 

“I was,” Zevran answered with a nod. “But, like you, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t feel satisfied, didn’t feel content with removing them from the world. They had caused me such _pain_ , such strife and hardship...I thought ending their lives would give me closure, but it just left me hollow.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Fenris said vehemently. “Hollow is the perfect word. I feel hollow and alone.”

“You are not alone,” Zevran said immediately, ensuring he met Fenris’ eyes. “I know I do not have the same experiences you do; I do not have the same trauma. But I do understand.” 

“From what I know of the Crows, you have some of the same trauma,” Fenris said softly. 

Zevran chuckled and took another sip of his wine. “Ah yes. Well, to be used in such a way eventually becomes second nature does it not? But even if we share that, I don’t have the same physical pain you do. Those markings...they are both a blessing and a curse, I imagine.” 

“You have no idea,” Fenris murmured, looking down at his forearm and the lyrium that ran through his skin. “Even if they didn’t hurt me physically, or cause me to lose my memory, they make me special, unique. They make people want me for just my body, not caring that there is a _person_ underneath those markings. I am a living, breathing elf, not a _thing_ to be used and studied.” 

“I know what you mean,” Zevran said with a nod. “The entire time I was with the Crows. I was only appreciated for what my body could do, not my mind. They didn’t even let me devise the strategy for our contracts. Admittedly, I was not the best tactician amongst us, but still. Often I was seen as a pretty face or a deadly weapon, nothing more.”

“You are so much more than that,” Fenris murmured, then blushed as he looked at the wine accusingly. “Forgive me, I must have drunk more than I realized.” 

“No, please, do go on,” Zevran chuckled. “I have been on my own for far too long, so hearing genuine compliments might do me some good.” 

“Well, your beauty is obvious,” Fenris said in that rough voice of his, and Zevran found himself squirming slightly as the white-haired elf’s words shot straight to his core. “As is your skill with a weapon, and disarming traps. You have clearly been well trained. One could almost call you a perfect specimen.” 

“How funny, I thought the same about you,” Zevran said, smiling. 

“I am hardly perfect,” Fenris countered. “For one thing, I’m covered in hideous markings.” 

“No more hideous than my own tattoos,” Zevran murmured. “Besides, I find them beautiful. They match your hair and offset your gorgeous eyes.” 

Fenris’ cheeks flushed as he dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. 

“You _are_ lovely to look at, but it’s more than that,” Zevran continued. “I felt it the moment I caught sight of you pinning that man’s arm behind him at the tavern. I felt...a kinship to you, an immediate closeness that I hadn’t felt in...a long time. And I thought it was just because I was lonely myself but -” 

“No, I felt it, too,” Fenris interjected. “I don’t work with people. I don’t make friends, not since...well, it always just turns into disaster. But for some reason, for some reason I felt drawn to you, compelled to tell you yes. I...I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Again, nothing is wrong with you, my friend. You are as sane as the rest of us.” Zevran laughed a bit loudly. “I’m not sure that’s much of a reassurance, as calling myself sane is a bit of a stretch to be sure.” 

They fell silent then, both concentrating on their wine, Zevran refilling their goblets as they sat in companionable, if not altogether comfortable, silence. 

“Here’s what I propose. And I would like you to know you have full agency here. You can turn it down and I will feel no differently towards you - we will continue our arrangement as is, you accompanying me to Arlathan and dealing with Solas together for the Divine.” 

He paused, and Fenris spoke up. 

“I would be using you.” 

Zevran smiled. “We would be using each other. I have just as much of an interest in this as you. Like I said, I have felt drawn to you since that first moment at the tavern. It would give me just as much pleasure, if not more so. So please, my friend, the using would be mutual.” 

Fenris sat quietly for a moment, looking at his wine glass. “You would agree to such an arrangement, even after how they treated you?” 

Zevran shook his head. “There is a difference here. I have a choice. I am free to say no if I want to. But I _don’t_ want to. This was, after all, my idea.” 

Fenris searched his eyes, and Zevran knew he’d find the truth and sincerity he was looking for. While it was true he’d been used that way in the past, he had learned to put that behind him years ago. 

Seeing his manipulators bleeding out in front of him didn’t hurt either. 

Fenris nodded, once. “I...have not had as much success putting it behind me as you have. If we do this, there need to be some ground rules.” 

“Of course, my friend, whatever will make you comfortable.” 

The white-haired elf took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, almost centering himself it seemed. When he opened them again, they had a look of determination that went straight through Zevran, causing his pulse to quicken. 

He found himself thinking that he’d agree to whatever it was the other man wanted. 

“The markings...they hurt. It’s not consistent, but tonight...tonight, touching them is off limits.” 

“You can tie me up if you want,” Zevran offered. 

Fenris’ gaze snapped to his own. “You would do that?” 

Zevran chuckled darkly. “I prefer it sometimes. And I think tonight would be one of those times.” 

Fenris nodded, face still serious. “If you are amenable to that, to me being in charge, then yes, I would very much like to sleep with you.” 

Zevran nodded. “Very well. One last question before we begin,” he said, his body tightening as the thought of what this night had in store for him began to settle. “Would I need to avoid all touching of you? Or is some acceptable?” 

A ghost of a smile passed over Fenris’ lips. “Just the markings need to be avoided. Everything else is fair game.” 

Zevran put down his wine glass, mimicking Fenris’ small smile. “Understood. Then my only other question is where would you like to begin?” But before he could even realize what was happening, Fenris had crossed the room and took his face in his hands, bringing his lips to his in a crushing embrace. Zevran hardly got surprised any more, but that action, that _surety of movement_ , took his breath away. 

He moaned into Fenris’ kiss, opening up for him and letting the other man’s tongue enter his mouth, exploring. Fenris tasted wonderfully, a heady combination of sandalwood, agarwood, and the spicy cherry of the wine. 

It was intoxicating in the best way. 

Fenris’ grip tightened on his face and Zevran grabbed onto his belt, pulling him into his lap. But before Fenris settled, his one hand left his face and wrapped around Zevran’s back, pulling them flush together. Zevran gasped as he felt Fenris pull and flip them, so he was sitting in the chair and Zevran was perched in his lap. 

Warmth pooled in his stomach and below at the movement, his loins tightening with the familiar feeling of arousal as Fenris manhandled him.

“Swinging that greatsword has paid off it seems,” Zevran murmured against his lips. Fenris just grunted and snaked his hand to the back of Zevran’s head, holding him in place, as he deepened the kiss. His other hand traced his spine, causing Zevran to arch against the touch. 

It had been so long since someone had touched him that way. 

The hand on his back continued making light strokes, never staying in one place long. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” Fenris said, moving his kisses from Zevran’s mouth, sucking along the side of his jaw and working his way down his neck. Zevran tilted his head to give the other man greater access. Fenris nipped on his pulse point as he slipped his hand under Zevran’s shirt, causing the blond to moan. Fenris bit down gently as he ran his hand up the expanse of Zevran’s bare back, making him squirm. 

“Ah, yes,” Zevran gasped, arching further into the touch. Fenris pulled away, quickly removing Zevran’s shirt and tossing it aside. He gazed at the other man for a moment, before ghosting his fingers across his back, moving around to his sides, then slowly making his way to his front. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. 

Zevran just smiled. “You know, you aren’t so bad looking yourself.” 

Fenris chuckled, grabbing his chin and holding his gaze. “I mean it,” he said, before kissing him again. Zevran wanted to respond, but Fenris’ tongue was demanding to be let in, and who was he to deny him? It’s not like he didn’t enjoy kissing the man himself. Fenris traced Zevran’s taut stomach muscles, running his fingers over the ridges there, before lightly making his way to his pecs. Again surprising Zevran, Fenris twisted his nipples, one sharp pull, that caused Zevran’s cock to jump. 

“Interesting,” Fenris said, before doing it again. Zevran gasped and pushed his hips forward, the ache beginning to build inside him.

Fenris smiled. “Something I can help you with?” he asked. But Zevran just shook his head, not willing to give in yet. 

“Just keep doing what you are doing, my friend,” he said. 

Fenris grunted again and ran his hands back along his flanks, coming to rest on Zevran’s ass. He gripped it hard as his lips closed over one of his nipples, suckling it. Zevran groaned loudly.

Oh Maker, this man knew what he was doing. Combat apparently wasn’t the only thing he was well trained in. 

Zevran pushed forward against Fenris again, trying to get some friction where he needed it most. He dropped his head back and allowed the other man to take control completely, running his mouth over Zevran’s chest, leaving tiny bite marks in his wake. He felt the other man dip his hands beneath his pants, gently massaging his ass.

Fenris slowly moved his hands back to Zevran’s front, settling on his belt buckle and ties. He brought his mouth back to the blond’s once more as his hands worked to free him. As soon as his trousers loosened just a bit, his cock sprung out, thankful to be unrestrained. 

“Like I said, beautiful,” Fenris muttered, before running his hand swiftly over his now-exposed cock, causing it to twitch. He rubbed his thumb quickly over the head, spreading the already gathering precum there. 

“You have very talented hands, my friend,” Zevran said, sighing. 

Fenris just smirked as he continued pumping Zevran’s shaft, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly. His other hand slipped back into the assassin’s pants, massaging his ass again and coaxing him open. He ran a finger through the cleft there, pausing for a moment at his entrance before continuing. It was then that Zevran felt the man beneath him shift a bit. 

The assassin leaned forward to kiss the other elf quickly, before laving his tongue over his ear. “Shall we let you have your freedom as well?” Fenris snorted but nodded slightly, his grip faltering just a bit on Zevran’s cock. The blond let out an involuntary moan at the continued movement, but he tried to focus on the situation in front of him. Fenris. Cock. Free. 

He managed to get the other man’s belt open and laces undone in only a few moments, biting back a smile. _“I’m not_ that _rusty,”_ he thought, though his triumph was cut short by Fenris toying with his entrance, causing him to spasm slightly. 

The warrior sighed as his own cock sprang free, and Zevran was pleased to find it suited the strong form below him. He’d definitely seen and dealt with worse-looking ones, Maker knew. 

He brought his hand within a few inches of it, but hesitated, knowing he had to ask for permission. 

He kissed the white-haired elf again, a passionate embrace that ended in a gasp as he felt Fenris’ fist tighten around him again. 

“Oh, Maker, that feels wonderful. May I return the favor?” he asked, hovering over the other man’s cockhead. 

“Please do,” Fenris responded in that low growl of his, capturing Zevran’s mouth again in a searing kiss. 

The assassin ran his fingers gently over the other man’s length, measuring its significant girth before wrapping his hand around the shaft and giving it a firm tug. Fenris hissed as his pleasure overtook him, surging forward in Zevran’s hand, urging him on. 

“It’s…” Fenris began, before cutting himself off with a moan as Zevran began moving his hand faster, twisting his wrist in just the right way to elicit the most pleasure out of the action. “It’s been so long...I’m not sure I can last.” 

“That is okay, my friend,” Zevran said on a gasp, as Fenris’ own hand began moving quicker as well, matching the other man’s effort. “I...might not last long either.” 

The two men continued stroking each other in tandem, Fenris’ other hand still gripping Zevran’s ass cheek tightly. Zevran brought his lips to the warrior’s for another kiss, their tongues languidly exploring, even as their movements along each other’s shafts picked up speed. 

“Oh Maker, you’re good at this,” Zevran groaned against Fenris’ mouth. “I….I might -” he tried to warn the other man, but Fenris just cut him off with a nip on his lower lip and a deep embrace. 

“Me, too,” he gasped. “Don’t hold back,” he instructed. The command made Zevran’s whole body tighten as he felt himself spill over the other man’s hand, which continued to pump him slowly, milking him for all his spend. Just a moment later, Fenris followed, his own cum coating Zevran’s hand, spurting in spasms as he moaned and buried his face in Zevran’s neck. 

“Too long,” he managed to get out between breaths. 

“It has been indeed,” Zevran agreed, placing a soft kiss against Fenris’ temple. They sat quietly for a few moments as their breathing returned to normal. Zevran realized Fenris’ one hand was still on his ass, caressing it slowly. His fingers trailed softly along the skin, hovering over his entrance again, before moving on. It was enough to make his cock half-hard again. 

“The night doesn’t have to end here,” Zevran suggested, pushing his ass back into Fenris’ hand. 

“I’d hope not,” Fenris said, lifting his head and meeting his eyes. “I’d be sorely disappointed if it did.” 

“Oh, my friend, you are _wonderful_ ,” Zevran sighed. He brought his hands up to Fenris’ face, mindful of the markings on his chin, and kissed him, a slow, sensual one that caused his blood to ignite as desire flowed through his veins again.

They sat kissing together for a while, Zevran’s senses overwhelmed by the other man and causing him to lose track of time. He loved everything that was happening at the moment - the way Fenris held him so surely, the spicy taste of his kisses, the leather-and-oil smell of his skin, and the feel of his corded muscles underneath his hands. His presence seemed to surround Zevran’s whole existence, and he found himself wanting to give in, allowing Fenris to dominate him in every sense of the word. 

Soon, however, his senses came back to him and he found himself squirming in Fenris’ lap as blood rushed to his cock once more. He wanted _more_ and he wanted it now. 

Mindful to not touch him, Zevran reached behind him and placed his hand on his own lower back, right above where Fenris’ hand had remained the whole time. 

“Do you mind if I…” he trailed off as Fenris’ hand ran over his hard cockhead again. 

“Just from kissing me?” he murmured against Zevran’s mouth. 

“You underestimate the power of your kisses I think,” Zevran chuckled. “But please, let me return the favor. I would like to show you how talented my tongue can be in other places.” 

Fenris paused for just a moment, before a glint entered his eye. “By all means,” he said, removing his hands from Zevran. 

Smiling, the assassin slid down between the other man’s legs, loosening his ties a bit more to give him better access. 

He ran his fingers over Fenris’ semi-hard cock, gripping its base before taking him fully into his mouth in one go. It was a point of pride for him that he’d always been incredibly talented with his mouth, and he was pleased to find his skills had not diminished greatly. 

“Oh fuck,” Fenris said, his hand sliding through Zevran’s hair, grasping onto it at the base of his skull. Zevran smiled around the growing hardness in his mouth, swallowing him further down his throat as he breathed past his gag reflex to allow it to slide all the way down. Fenris let out a low moan as his hips shifted, pushing himself even further in. Zevran pulled back slightly, allowing his tongue to swirl around the head, before taking him back down again, moving along with Fenris’ thrusts. 

“You,” Fenris began, before cutting off with a grunt, “better have oil with you.” He gasped as Zevran hollowed out his cheeks, the pressure pulling pleasure from him deep within him, he knew. 

Not wanting to stop, Zevran just pointed to a small bottle that arrived beside the ewer. He watched as Fenris followed his gesture, then gave the assassin a wicked smile. Grabbing him under the arms, Fenris pulled Zevran up off his knees and stood up quickly, turning the blond as he did so. He pressed himself against the assassin’s back, his hard cock poking Zevran in the back, just a bit higher than where he desperately needed it. 

He bent a bit lower to whisper in Zevran’s ear, hot breath ghosting over its sensitive point. “A bit presumptuous, weren’t you?” he growled. 

Zevran groaned and pressed against the hard body behind him. “There is nothing wrong with having a little hope…” he said, tilting his head as Fenris grazed his teeth over Zevran’s pointed lobe. 

“Indeed,” Fenris said, before pushing Zevran forward and allowing the blond to fall face forward on the bed. As soon as he landed however, he rolled to the side and slid off the bed, heading to his pack near his armour stand. 

Fenris looked over to him with one eyebrow raised. “What’re you doing?” he asked, the bottle of oil in his hand. 

The assassin rummaged in his pack for a moment, then turned back to the other elf, giving him a wicked smile. “Didn’t want to forget this,” he said, holding up a thick coil of rope. Fenris’ second eyebrow raised to meet his first. 

“You were serious?” 

Zevran met Fenris’ gaze. “I never joke about bondage, my friend. Besides, you are...too good at what you do. I’m not sure I’d be able to follow your rules fully if you don’t.” 

The warrior shifted from one foot to the other, then nodded his head, once. “You will...have to instruct me. I’ve been tied, but haven’t done the tying myself.” 

Zevran smiled. “No problem friend. Come,” he gestured to the bed, pulling apart the coil to separate the ropes. 

“You know how to tie knots?” he asked the white-haired elf. 

“I do,” he said. “But how do I make sure I don’t hurt you? I…” 

“Don’t worry, I will tell you if they are too tight. But the key is to keep your finger between the rope and my skin, so there is a bit of wiggle room. Then you just create a simple cinch knot around my wrist and a square knot around the bedpost, and we should be good to go. And make sure there is a bit of slack so I won’t be completely immobile. Unless, of course, that is what you want? I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that…” 

Fenris cleared his throat and his arousal at the idea of tying Zevran up was evident. “I...want you to move a little, I think,” he said, his voice rough. 

“Wonderful,” Zevran said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling to face the headboard. “Now, take one coil and create the cinch around the wrist.” Fenris apparently wasn’t lying about knowing his knots. After the assassin’s simple instructions, he managed to create a perfect cinch knot, finishing it off quickly with two square knots before bringing the tails to the bedpost and tying it off. 

“How’s that?” Fenris asked, turning toward Zevran. He tugged on the rope a bit, testing the give. 

“Perfect,” he said. Fenris smiled widely, coming over to kiss Zevran deeply. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured against the assassin’s mouth. 

Zevran pushed his still-hard cock against Fenris’ thigh. “It is literally my pleasure, my friend.” Groaning, Fenris swatted the second coil against the blond’s ass. 

“You are too much,” the warrior said softly as he mimicked his actions with Zevran’s other hand. “Good?” 

Zevran nodded and leaned forward, testing the tension. They really were fantastically done. 

“Now, where were we?” Fenris asked, smiling as he made his way back around to Zevran’s rear. He pulled off the assassin’s pants and his own in two swift motions, before grabbing the bottle of oil and uncorking it with his teeth. He spread Zevran’s legs wide, grabbing his hips so his ass ground against the white-haired elf’s hard length. He ran a gentle hand over Zevran’s skin before pouring a liberal amount of oil into his hand, drizzling a bit more on the assassin’s rear. Holding him wide, Fenris began working his entrance, circling it with one slick finger and coaxing it open. 

After a few moments, he slipped a finger inside, massaging him. Zevran shuddered at the feeling. He was used to it, but it still made him clench every time. He forced himself to relax with a few deep breaths, and Fenris placed a soft kiss against his spine. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

Zevran nodded, pushing back against the intrusion. “Yes, please keep going.” Fenris worked him for a bit, moving in and out and circling his finger to widen him, adding a second one only after he was good and ready. The care with which he acted told Zevran all he needed to know about his history, and it broke his heart; but he hoped having more interactions like this would help him become more comfortable with his past. 

He managed to slip a third finger in and it burned, stretching Zevran in a way that made his cock twitch and his body shudder, as the feeling quickly turned to pleasure. 

“Did I hurt you?” Fenris asked, withdrawing his fingers. But Zevran clenched around his hand, keeping him rooted in place.

“No,” Zevran said, rocking back on his knees. “But please, don’t stop.” 

Fenris laughed softly and pushed his hand in as far as it would go, spreading his fingers slightly as he did so. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked. 

“I’m ready,” Zevran managed as pleasure coiled within him. “Please, I need to feel you, I need you to fill me.” 

The sensations Fenris was eliciting in him were at the same time too much and not enough. He wanted...he didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that he needed to be filled by the gorgeous man behind him. 

Fenris poured some more oil down his cleft before applying some liberally on his own hard cock. Zevran felt his head poking his entrance. 

“Ready?” he asked, holding himself right at the precipice. 

“Yes,” the assassin gasped, as he felt the other man breach him, pushing in with his perfect cock. 

No, not just his cock. Fenris was perfect. 

The sensation was overwhelming, Fenris slowly but consistently pushing into Zevran until he was hilted inside him, pausing to let the assassin adjust. Once he did, however, he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to be fucked, thoroughly. 

He began pushing back against the fit figure behind him and Fenris took the hint, pulling out almost completely before pushing himself back in. He kept up a slow and steady pace, hitting that perfect spot inside Zevran each time. It was torture. It was glorious. 

“Fenris, _please_ ,” he moaned after one particularly languid thrust. 

“What?” he asked, bending forward over his back and changing the angle, making it that much more intense. 

“I need you to fuck me, hard,” Zevran asked on a whimper. “ _Please_.”

“As you so eloquently put, it would be my pleasure,” Fenris replied, as he picked up the pace, moving in and out of the assassin at a breakneck speed. It was all Zevran could do to hang on. He was thankful for the ropes not just because they kept him from touching Fenris in a way he didn’t want, he was using them to hold on. He would have fallen flat on the bed ages ago if not for them. 

“Fuck, Fenris, please don’t stop,” Zevran gasped as the warrior’s stamina became evident. He was still bent over the blond’s back, and he placed gentle kisses along his spine, before latching onto his skin with a gentle bite. 

That almost caused Zevran to spill over right then. 

“You feel incredible,” Fenris said onto his sweat-slicked skin, removing one hand from the assassin’s hips to move his hair out of the way. He grasped it in his hand and tugged experimentally, causing Zevran’s cock to jump significantly. 

“Again,” he managed to gasp. “And harder.” 

“You certain?” Fenris asked. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Zevran hissed as he pushed himself more firmly against Fenris’ movements. He pulled his hair again and Zevran shuddered, the pleasure incredible. 

Good thing he already came once; if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have lasted past that feeling. 

“Fenris,” Zevran groaned as the warrior pulled again. He pulled his head back so he could kiss him, then groaned as he nipped his bottom lip. 

Before Zevran’s mind could catch up to the action, Fenris had pulled out and flipped him over, so his arms were crossed in front of his chest, but they were facing each other. The warrior grabbed his cock and pushed back in again, hilting himself fully in the first thrust, before picking up his intense pace again. 

“I...I wanted to see your face,” he murmured, a brief flicker of shame entering the white-haired elf’s eyes as he continued his movement. 

Zevran found himself cursing the ties for a moment, wanting to touch the other man’s face, to caress him and reassure him. Instead, he was bound and couldn’t move. So he went for the next best thing, wrapping his legs around the warrior and drawing him closer to him. 

“I am glad,” Zevran said, smiling. “I would like to see your face as well.” 

Fenris returned the expression and leaned forward, ghosting his lips over Zevran’s nipples, hitching his legs up higher so they wrapped around his waist, before capturing his lips in another intense kiss. 

“Your markings -” Zevran began to protest, but Fenris cut him off with another kiss. 

“I want you like this,” he explained. “No other way will do.” 

“Then have me,” the assassin replied simply. 

Fenris growled and - to Zevran’s astonishment - increased the speed of his thrusts, almost pushing him forward with each motion. He kissed him again, tongues entwining as Zevran grabbed the rope, begging himself to hang on, just a bit longer. 

He’d be damned if he let the other man beat him to orgasm. 

To his surprise, Fenris slowed down then, breathing intense as he eased his movements, but still thrust within him. It ramped up his arousal just that much more. Andraste’s tits, this man knew what he was doing. 

“Fenris…” Zevran groaned. 

“Soon,” he said, breathing heavily. “I just...wanted to savor this a bit more.” 

Zevran tightened his legs around Fenris’ waist, shifting himself up a bit higher to allow for a deeper penetration. “Take all the time you need,” he murmured. 

Fenris kept his thrusts up the whole time, but gazed at Zevran with a look that the assassin couldn’t place. He again was shocked by the fact that he - with all his Crow training and the skills he picked up from Leliana - couldn’t get a read on the man. 

But if this helped him in any way, if Fenris was using this to heal, to move on, then he would gladly take this man’s cock as he did so. 

Fenris captured Zevran’s mouth in a passionate embrace. Zevran hoped he conveyed what he didn’t want to with words - for the warrior to take his time, absorb the experience, know that this is what having sex _could_ be like. 

As the frantic pace slowed down, a newer, deeper form of pleasure took root in him, one that spread not in his cock, but in his heart, as he realized that the kinship he felt for this other elf, this other _slave,_ was real. A warm and tingling sensation that had nothing to do with the length currently working him spread from his core all the way to his fingers and toes. He tamped down the feeling, knowing he didn’t want to worry about that too much, but happy he could still feel that way. 

He wondered if Fenris was feeling the same thing. 

Slowly, but not in a way that was unwanted, Fenris began to pick up the speed of his thrusts, entering him with long, strong strokes that touched Zevran exactly where he needed to be each time. Eventually, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back, and he told Fenris so. 

He just grunted and nodded, redoubling his efforts, before leaning forward for another kiss. “Cum for me Zevran.” 

That was the first time Fenris had used Zevran’s name, and it was enough, enough for the pleasure that had been building from deep within him to come spilling over, as he spurt strand after strand of spend on his stomach, coating himself with the substance. 

“You’re beautiful,” Fenris murmured, before spilling himself inside of Zevran with a long and low groan. “So beautiful.” 

They stayed that way for a long while, longer than Zevran could keep track of. With a long, slow kiss, Fenris finally pulled out of him, sighing as he did so. He quickly undid the knots on Zevran’s wrists, leaving the ropes attached to the bedposts for the moment. 

“Alright?” Fenris asked, lying down next to Zevran on the bed, though not touching him. 

“More than alright,” he murmured. “That was incredible.” 

“Agreed,” Fenris said, touching his forehead to Zevran’s and kissing him softly. He massaged the assassin’s wrists gently. “You sure it didn’t hurt?” 

“It did not,” Zevran said with a smile. “And if it did, I know how to get out of almost every knot created, so not to worry.” 

Fenris raised his eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“What is it, my friend?” he asked. 

“I think I have found a challenge to occupy us while we are on the road to Arlathan,” he said, a mischievous glint entering his eye. 

“Oh, I am very much looking forward to this,” Zevran murmured, propping his head up on his hand and turning to look at the warrior. He gazed at the white-haired man for a moment, toying with saying what was on the forefront of his mind, but decided he had nothing to lose. Besides, if he didn’t propose them letting off steam, they never would have enjoyed such a wonderful romp in the bed. 

“Would you like to stay?” he asked, face open and sincere. “Again, no expectations, but...if you would like to. I daresay my bed is more comfortable than yours.” 

Fenris laughed, a full-bellied, loud sound that shocked Zevran. “You are not wrong. I wouldn’t even think to try to stay in a place like this as an elf. But I’m glad it was available to you.” He paused, and his smile melted off his face as he stared at the ceiling. 

“Last time...last time I did something like this, I ran away. I was scared by the feelings that I was forming, and I ruined something that could have been wonderful.” 

“Well, that is the great part about this,” Zevran answered, smiling at him. “There are no feelings, no expectations aside from two men who are traveling together. I owe you nothing, and all you owe me is a trip to Arlathan. Anything beyond that would just be a sweet surprise. Again, the agency is yours, my friend.” 

Fenris turned to look at him, his face blank. Zevran held his breath as he waited for the warrior’s answer. While he wasn’t lying when he told him nothing would change between them should Fenris want to leave for the evening, he found himself hoping he would stay. 

“I...I think I would like to stay,” he said, clear, brilliant light hazel eyes meeting Zevran’s own. “If you’d have me.”

“Of course, my friend,” he said, smiling widely. “I am glad to have you along.” 

“I am glad to be here,” Fenris murmured, draping his arm across Zevran’s chest as he drifted off to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading! And many thanks to potionsmaster and Kosho for their wonderful beta work!


End file.
